


You Don't Own Me

by FandomFanficsGalore



Category: 19天 - Old先 | 19 Days - Old Xian
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Slavery, Tianshan - Freeform, Zhanyi, slave!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 12:41:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15340077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomFanficsGalore/pseuds/FandomFanficsGalore
Summary: Posted from a tumblr request.Mo Guan Shan has been a slave for as long as he can remember. When a man named He Tian buys him from his slaver, Mo thinks he'll simply be sent back again as he always is due to his bad attitude and issues with authority.But both he and He Tian get more than they bargain for, and both begin to question their places in life, and what they truly want.





	1. Chapter 1

 

* * *

 

Noise buffeted Mo Guan Shan’s ears as a firm grip wrangled him from the truck. The pavement was hot on his feet, but he had no time to protest as he was shoved forward into a line of slaves waiting behind a tall black curtain. Behind it, Mo could hear shouting and the slap of a gavel as lives were sold and won. He grit his teeth, shrugging his sore shoulders and adjusting his wrists. The cuffs scraped at his raw wrists, but Mo had long since figured out how to push the pain to the back of his mind.

           The line moved torturously slow, and slavers walked up and down the line, observing them over and over. A few slipped their hands along legs and arms, pretending to be searching for weapons or any imperfections that hadn’t been there before. The first man that slipped his hand a little too low on Mo’s back, over the thin tunic he’d been forced into, earned a curse and a snap of his teeth. He jumped back, and Mo’s slaver waved him off, giving Mo a warning glare. Mo returned it, fury boiling in his veins.

           He knew the man wouldn’t risk punishing him now; not when he was so close to auction, and anyone that had shown interest in Mo had sent him back immediately. Mo Guan Shan was one deal that had never paid off, and he was pleased that it infuriated the slaver. Please to a certain degree, that is—at one point, it would be enough. Mo Guan Shan wondered when that tipping point would be, and what the man would do when he reached it.

           The line jerked forward, jolting Mo Guan Shan from his thoughts. Next in line was a tall light-haired man with broad shoulders, maybe a couple years older than Mo. He would be good for physical labor, at least. Jealousy bred in Mo’s chest, seeping into despair.

           Mo Guan Shan had little muscle to speak of, with wiry cords beneath his pale skin and delicate red hair. In this trade, he was good for one thing and one thing only—a fact that he was constantly reminded of. The man before him was ushered through the curtain, and Mo caught a glimpse of the room. It looked like every other auction din; bright lights, narrowed faces, men in suits of varying cleanness and color holding numbered signs in their laps. Mo Guan Shan detested every single one of them. He could only hope that the throbbing bruise beneath his left eye and his slightly gangly form would once again protect him from purchase.

           In what seemed like seconds, it was his turn. With another firm grip on his elbow, Mo was yanked through the curtain, flailing at the bruising fingers. Bright light assaulted his eyes and Mo flinched, freezing on the spot he was placed. The platform in this room was raised so that, when his eyes adjusted, he could at least see the rest of the room, all the way to the back wall, whose door was closed and guarded—as expected. Mo knew almost every man and woman in this room had a piece on them, and he wasn’t stupid enough to try running.

           “Next,” the auctioneer, an older man with wispy white hair and an impatiently pursed mouth, drawled, “we have another from lot 06. Red haired, virgin, medium strength…”

           Heat flushed up Mo’s neck and he seethed.

           “Eight hundred.”

           The auctioneer paused, and Mo’s head whipped around, seeking out the voice. He caught sight just as the man lowered his sign, and their eyes met. His hair was black as night, and his tall form lounged in the white plastic chair as though it were a throne. His suit was black, the jacket unbuttoned and the white shirt smooth underneath. A smile played on his lips, and he had the audacity to wink a coal-black eye at Mo.

           Mo Guan Shan glared in turn, but his surprise and dread, the man’s grin only widened.

           “Nine hundred.”

           His eyes dragged away from the man. On the other side of the room, raising his card, stood a man with silver hair and narrowed eyes.

           The auctioneer cleared his throat and raised a hand.

           “I hear nine hundred. Do I hear nine-fifty…?”

           The dark eyed man raised his card. Number 80.

           “Nine-fifty, do I hear a thousand?”

           There was a beat, and then the silver-haired man raised his card.

           Mo Guan Shan squeezed his eyes shut, biting his lip to keep down the groan of horror that was building up in his chest. Behind his eyelids, he could almost see the slaver’s eager, greedy eyes, his fat fingers stapling together.

           “Do I hear one thousand, one hundred?”

           Mo Guan Shan opened his eyes to see the dark haired man raise his card. His eyes had not moved from Mo, who’s gaze hardened once again.

           After a bit of deliberation, the silver man offered one thousand, two hundred.

           “Do I hear one thousand, five hundred?”

           “Two thousand,” the dark haired man stated, waving his number. He either didn’t notice the burning glare the silver man sent his way, or simply didn’t care.

           “Two thousand,” the auctioneer repeated, almost to himself. Mo Guan Shan shared his shock. “Two thousand, then. Do I hear two thousand, one hundred…?”

           Silence.

           The silver man whispered angrily to someone on his left before turning back to the stage and folding his arms. His number remained down at his side.

           “Going once… going twice…”

           Mo’s eyes shut as the gavel fell. The sound resounded through his entire body.

           “ _Sold_ , to number 80, Mister He Tian.”

           Mo Guan Shan was handled off the stage, forcing him to open his eyes and stumble down the stairs and off into the side room that was set up for the exchange of money and slaves. He could feel eyes on him like a weight on his shoulders. His stomach churned as he stepped inside, the carpet coarse beneath his bare feet. His slaver was already there, practically bouncing in his shiny black shoes.

           In seconds, the door opened again, and the man with dark hair entered.

           Mr. He Tian.

           “Sir,” Mo’s slaver said, hurrying forward to offer a sweaty hand. “So good doing business with you. He’ll be a fine addition to your household, I assure you. I mean, just look at him….”

Mr. He glanced down at the hand, but didn’t take it, leaving the slaver to awkwardly drop it. His eyes fixed on Mo Guan Shan once again, who stiffened.

“Yes,” he drawled, “look at him.”

He raised a hand and Mo’s breath caught in his chest. Fingers brushed his cheek, just beneath his bruised eye, and Mo Guan Shan wrenched away, disgust and fear shooting like ice through his stomach. In a flash, his slaver grabbed his shackles and yanked him forward, his glare so burning it sent a faint flush of relief through Mo’s mind. Maybe he would kill him. Maybe Mr. He wouldn’t want him, after all.

Mo Guan Shan had no desire to go back, but he didn’t have any desire to be owned, either.

“Listen, you little—“

Mr. He raised a hand, cutting the slaver off. He took a step closer to Mo, who leaned back instinctively. The grip on his shackles tightened, and he grit his teeth as the cold metal bit into his skin. Up close, the man smelled like cigarettes and cologne, and his eyes, instead of black, were a dark gray. They pinned Mo in place, sending a shudder down his spine.

“…Don’t worry, red head,” he murmured. “I will find a use for you.”

Anger washed over Mo’s fear like a tidal wave, and he glared.

“I’m not your property.”

“Oh?” Mr. He smiled. “The money I paid for you says otherwise.”

Mo Guan Shan’s face flushed, but Mr. He leaned back. From his pocket he produced a sheaf of money. Counting it out, he handed it to the slaver carelessly.

“You can take the shackles off. We’ll be leaving now.”

Mo’s slaver stared down at the money, his eyes wide, before looking back up at Mr. He’s words.

“Wha—but, sir, he—he’s a little, ah, well…”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Mr. He stated. He shifted, and his jacket slipped aside to reveal the sleek gun holstered at his hip. It was unnecessary; Mo Guan Shan wasn’t going to run. He was smarter than that. But it still made his skin crawl.

Reluctantly, the slaver tucked away the wad of money and pulled out a key, undoing Mo’s shackles. They dropped to the floor in a clatter and Mo immediately rubbed his wrists. They were raw and red, the skin flaked off in places.

“Let’s go.”

He looked up as his new master nodded towards the door.

Mo didn’t move. His slaver had already waddled away, satisfied that he’d gotten paid, but Mo’s feet remained planted.

The man arched an eyebrow in question.

“I won’t give it to you,” Mo found himself whispering. “Whatever you want, I will never give it to you. You’ll have to take it. You will never own me.”

Mr. He observed him, his face inscrutable. Then—

“Can you cook?”

Mo Guan Shan stared. His mouth was dry.

“What…?”

“Can you cook?” Mr. He repeated slowly.

“Er… a little, but… I—“

He smiled at Mo’s clear bafflement. The door opened and a guard stepped through, holding it aloft. He Tian waved to them before turning back to Mo Guan Shan.

           “See? I told you I’d find a use for you.”

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

* * *

 

 

The car ride was swift and awkward.

            Mo Guan Shan sat in his seat as far from He Tian as possible, curled in on himself where he pressed against the door. The black leather clung to the bare backs of his thighs and made him aware just how filthy he was. He stared resolutely out the window, his chest aching as he watched the city flicker passed the window. Despite living here for the past several years, Mo Guan Shan knew nothing about the city. He was always dragged here and there, forced to work, tossed back and forth between angry owners and his livid slaver. He’d never had the time to observe his surroundings.

            Beyond his window, the sun began sinking over the horizon, sending a splash of oranges and reds and purples across the sky. Tall towers stood stark against the sky, bracketed by wide business shops with sloping roofs. The more they drove, the more Mo caught sign of the seedy life beneath; men and women stumbling in and out of the darkened alleyways, a homeless man sitting bundled beneath a jacket in a storefront with his backpack tucked beneath his knees. For the first time in a long time, Mo felt incredibly small.

            There was a whole world out there that he didn’t know of. An entire city, living and breathing with people he would never meet, whose struggles he would never know.

            “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

            Mo stiffened and glanced over. He Tian’s calm gaze met his, a smirk still playing on his thin lips. Mo looked away and contemplated not answering. Instead, with a small sigh, he muttered,

            “I guess.”

            He Tian hummed. The snap of a lighter caught Mo’s attention and he looked over to see He Tian lighting a cigarette between his lips. The sharp scent of smoke filled the car and Mo wrinkled his nose. This didn’t go unnoticed by He Tian, who only grinned and took another drag.

            “So tell me your story, Redhead,” he said.

            “My name isn’t redhead.”

            “Then what is your name?”

            Mo Guan Shan hesitated.

            “None of your business.”

            Instead of growing angry like Mo expected, a deep, unsettling laugh left He Tian’s mouth. He blew out a plume of smoke, which slowly dissipated in the air conditioning.

            “Then Redhead it is,” he stated.

            Mo Guan Shan glowered, and He Tian stared back. The man looked just as relaxed as he had before, when bartering the ownership over people’s lives. He had the air of a man who thought he could do no wrong, whose actions were always justified in his own eyes. Mo decided right then that he hated him.

 

            Thankfully, the attempt at conversation halted when the car came to a slow stop, and Mo stepped out of the vehicle.

            He blinked.

            The house before him was not a house, but a mansion. It was smaller than others Mo Guan Shan had seen of his previous masters, but there was something… else about it that made him pause. The front porch was wide and wrapped around the entire length of the house, bracketed by neatly trimmed bushes. The windows were small and shuddered, even on the upper floor, and the roof was tiled gray. Everything about it seemed… cold.

            There were no flowers in the bushes, no sign of life on the rest of the property stretching back behind the building.

            “Like it?”

            Mo Guan Shan turned as He Tian stepped beside him. He nodded.

            “It’s better inside,” the man murmured. There was something hard in his gaze that Mo couldn’t decipher, but then he dropped his cigarette and snuffed it beneath his shoe and it was gone.

            “Let’s get inside. I should have something for you to change into.”

            He Tian started up the stone path to the front door, and Mo Guan Shan glanced around. When he noticed the armed guard hovering behind him, he sighed and followed.

            The inside was, if possible, even larger than the outside and just as empty. The white tiled floors echoed with their footsteps. Off to the left, Mo caught sight of a round living room with a single black leather couch and a fireplace. To the right, where He Tian led, sat a curved kitchen with swirling black granite counters and a long island at its center. Everything was… bland. It was black and white and sleek and expensive, but there was no ownership. It looked like a model home, like an empty carcass that showed what _could_ be made of the place instead of what had.

            “This is where you’ll spend most of your time,” He Tian announced. He leaned against the island and watched Mo Guan Shan take in all of the appliances and spotless tile. “You’ll cook dinner for me tonight. After that, we’ll see.”

            Mo’s head snapped towards him.

            “What does that mean?” he asked, trying not to show his nerves. “’We’ll see’? What does it mean?”

            He Tian smiled. Instead of answering, he pushed away from the island and waltzed off. With the guard still shadowing, Mo Guan Shan padded after him, the tile cold on his bare feet. He trailed behind the man down a hall that hooked right, and opened a door to their left. Inside was a spacious room, lightly furnished with a simple brown dresser and a bed. Clothes sat on the end of it.

           “Get dressed,” He Tian ordered. “We’ll adjust them once we see how they fit. Bathroom is through that door.” He Tian pointed to an adjoining bathroom. “The entire bottom floor is yours to investigate as you please.”

            Mo Guan Shan nodded slightly. He should just accept it without question. But—

          “What about upstairs?”

           He Tian tilted his head, then gave him a grim smile.

          “There’s nothing for you upstairs,” he said. “Only my bedroom and my office. I won’t need your service in either of those places.”

Mo Guan Shan couldn’t help the way his shoulders slumped in relief, something unlocking in his chest. He Tian must have seen it, but he said nothing as he turned, waving the guard away.

“Meet me in the kitchen once you’re done.”

The man left, shutting the door behind him and leaving Mo Guan Shan alone.

He gazed around, rubbing his fingers together nervously. The room was just as cold and empty as the rest of the house. It made his skin crawl. Despite the reassurance that He Tian would at least not need him for… carnal desires—for now, at least—irritation and fear still swelled like an angry wound in Mo Guan Shan’s chest. He was not an object to be owned. He was not a toy to toss here and there as any man pleased, and he was certainly not a damn housemaid.

But what choice did he have?

It was either this, or get sent back to his slaver, who would be even more livid with him than last time. He Tian seemed amused with him now, but Mo knew it wouldn’t last. Soon, Mo’s attitude would cross the line, and he’d be beaten and sent back like every other time before. Or he’d be killed, if the guns strapped to He Tian and his guard were anything to go by.

Finally Mo Guan Shan gathered himself and crossed the room to the bed. A yellow shirt and black pants had been folded in a neat pile on the end, along with a pair of black socks. Mo Guan Shan shed his filthy tunic gratefully, folding it and setting it atop the dresser, before tugging on the new clothes. They were stiff and scratchy compared to his well-worn tunic, but solid, at least. At the same time they were more comfortable, they also felt like a brand. This was a uniform, nothing else. Despite the fact that it wasn’t silky and revealing like most of his others, it was still what He Tian wanted him to wear; there was no freedom in wearing warmer clothes when they, too, were forced upon him.

He took a moment to collect himself, taking liberty of being alone. There were no windows in his room, which was no surprise. Mo padded into the adjoining bathroom, which had a small shower, toilet, and sink. He winced at his reflection in the mirror. The angry purple bruise still sat beneath his eye, and dirt smeared his cheek. He was gaunt; Mo looked half-dead already.

For his own sake, Mo washed his face, careful about his tender eye, and contemplated hopping in the shower before discarding it. He Tian hadn’t given him permission to do so, and as much as Mo seethed at the idea of needing permission for anything, he’d long since learned better.

So, long before he was ready, he opened the door to the room and stepped out. The guard had disappeared, as had He Tian. Mo Guan Shan tiptoed across the floor, sliding slightly in his socks. He eventually found He Tian in the kitchen, sitting on one of the stools on the island. Another lit cigarette hung from his lips. His eyes gazed unfocused into the space before him, but he blinked and turned when Mo Guan Shan cleared his throat.

“Ah, Redhead,” he greeted, his eyes sweeping over Mo in a way that made him suppress a shudder. After the initial relief, Mo had reassured himself of the man’s desires. Maybe he didn’t want Mo in his bed upstairs, but there were plenty of other surfaces—Mo’s new bed included—where the man could do his business.

“They fit, for the most part,” He Tian continued, stubbing the rest of his cigarette in marble ashtray on the counter. “I’ll have to get you new pants. Taller than you look.”

“What do you want me to do?” Mo asked blandly.

He Tian tilted his head.

“So eager to work, are you?” he asked, a smirk teasing his lips. Mo glowered.

“I know your type,” he hissed. He Tian quirked an eyebrow, inviting him to continue. Mo all too happily took up that chance. “You’ll pretend to be nice and amused for the first few days, but soon you’ll show your true colors. You don’t know mercy or compassion. You’ll just take what you want, and then send me back when I’m too much for you. So let’s just get this over with.”

He Tian watched him for a long moment. Anger and fear mingled in a cold vice in Mo Guan Shan’s stomach. To his surprise, He Tian didn’t move to stand or approach him, to hit him, to yell. Instead, he huffed a small, mirthless laugh.

“You’ll be cooking dinner for me tonight,” the man said, waving a hand. “I’m in the mood for some pasta. I did some shopping while you were changing, so there should be plenty of ingredients.”

Mo Guan Shan eyed him, but He Tian simply smiled back and waved toward the pantry, so he stepped over and opened the door. It was mostly barren, with just a few boxes of cereal, flower, jars of preservatives, and boxes upon boxes of different types of noodles. After some deliberation, Mo selected a box of thick udon noodles and set them on the counter before retrieving the rest of the ingredients from the fridge. All the while, he felt He Tian’s gaze on him, burning into his back, burning through him. He set the beef out to thaw as he boiled the dashi, and began slicing up green onions on the fancy chopping board. Despite the fact that Mo had a knife and there was no guard around, He Tian seemed perfectly at ease. Mo’s mouth felt dry, the knife heavy in his hand.

He could do it.

He could try, right now. Kill the man. Escape. Just keep running, until the city was far behind him.

He Tian shifted then and, deliberate or not, the flash of a gun on his hip caught Mo Guan Shan’s notice. The small hope that had spawned in Mo’s chest disappeared, but along with it, a small bit of relief. Mo Guan Shan wasn’t a murderer. He didn’t want this life to turn him into that, but there had been instances he’d been tempted. Moments where he thought it would be worth the risk, just to have a few moments of freedom before he was inevitably captured and killed, or worse.

“So tell me about yourself,” He Tian said after a while. He’d lit another cigarette, and Mo glared at it before dropping his gaze back down to his hands. “You can obviously cook. Where did you learn that?”

“Family.”

He didn’t look up to see He Tian’s reaction. Mo Guan Shan didn’t owe this man anything.

“How long have you been in the system?” 

“You mean how long have I been a slave?” Mo snapped. “Since I was thirteen.”

“And now you’re…?”

Mo’s hands paused. He flickered through his past, quickly glazing over the details. How long had it been? If felt like an eternity. His body had grown and matured—of that he knew for certain. Mentally, he’d grown much faster. How long had it been?

How old was he?

A bit of panic seeped into his bones, but Mo Guan Shan tried to shake it away.

“If I had to guess,” He Tian said quietly, “I would say you look eighteen. Maybe nineteen. Though that may be because you’re so thin. You’ll be eating well, here, so you’ll gain.”

Mo Guan Shan didn’t answer. If he was expected to gain weight, fine. It didn’t really matter to him. Perhaps if he gained a bit more, other slavers would find him too unattractive to sell. Despite himself, his stomach rumbled at the thought of food, and Mo flushed. He turned away to check on the dashi, ignoring He Tian’s heavy gaze. A second later the door rang. Mo leapt, the spoon he was using slipping from his hand and clattering to the floor.

Behind him, He Tian rose.

“Keep cooking,” he said calmly. “It’s just a visit. They won’t stay long.”

Mo Guan Shan didn’t move as he watched He Tian set his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray and waltz off. From where he stood, he could hear the door open and voices speaking lowly. Mo inched back toward the island and craned his neck. He could just barely see into the hallway. He Tian’s back was to him, and over his shoulder, Mo saw a glimpse of blonde hair. A white envelope exchanged hands, and He Tian stepped back to shut the door.

Mo leapt into action, scooping up the spoon and setting it into the sink before grabbing another one and stirring a little too excitedly, the stove hissing as the dashi spilled over the lip of the pot. Footsteps approached, and Mo glanced over his shoulder. He Tian stood at the edge of the kitchen, a letter in his hand with the envelope tucked between his fingers. His eyes scanned the paper, his dark brows furrowing. Mo couldn’t help the curiosity that piqued in him.

Then He Tian’s eyes flicked up to his and he swallowed, jolting away and back to the foot. After a pause, he heard the creak of the stool as He Tian settled down again, and the smell of smoke swelled as he took another drag.

“Tell me more,” He Tian said, resuming as if they had never paused.

Mo Guan Shan fell silent.

“Redhead…? I’m waiting…”

The tone was playful, but Mo had had enough. He slammed down the spoon and whipped around. He Tian’s cigarette hung from his mouth as he parted his lips in surprise.

“What do you want to know?” Mo snapped. “What it’s like being the slave to filthy pigs like you? What it’s like to have no choice in my life, or what I do or who I touch, or who touches me? Do you want to know what I can do? Well, too bad. I told you, I won’t do anything for you. You’ll have to take it from me, and it’ll be anything but pleasant.”

Mo Guan Shan’s hands trembled, and he forced the sting of tears from his eyes. He Tian watched him evenly, his cold gaze once again unreadable. The man lifted a hand and Mo winced. He waited for the screaming. He waited for He Tian to leave his chair, to take exactly what he wanted, or perhaps beat Mo to a pulp first.

Slowly the man stubbed his cigarette in the tray, twisting it between his long fingers. Dread curled in Mo’s stomach, the silence filling the air in thick anticipation.

“That’s enough for today,” He Tian announced. His voice was low and even. “Keep your secrets, Redhead.”

The man stood, taking up the envelope and letter and tucking them into his jacket pocket. Mo watched the movement warily, and He Tian gave him a small smile.

“Don’t slack off,” he said, motioning to the uncut vegetables. “I’ll be right back.”

Mo stared as the man turned and left. He disappeared around the corner, and Mo heard the creak of the stairs as he ascended. For a silent moment, he didn’t move. He listened intently—for the sound of He Tian coming back, for footsteps of the guard, for the cock of a gun or the snap of a belt. For a long few minutes he remained planted in place, but he heard nothing. Finally, Mo Guan Shan turned back to the cutting board, scooping up the knife. He shook out his trembling hands before resuming his chopping.

 

He Tian returned after a few minutes. Silence reigned over them. Thankfully, the man didn’t try to pry any more, and Mo Guan Shan was all too happy to remain quiet. When the food was done, he pulled out a bowl he found in one of the upper counters and served He Tian, fetching him a glass of water when requested. He stood back and crossed his arms, chewing his bottom lip nervously as He Tian tried it.

The man’s eyes lit up, and he glanced at Mo Guan Shan.

“Grab yourself a bowl,” he said, motioning. “Eat with me.”

Mo Guan Shan bit back a refusal and grabbed a bowl, spooning a bit of udon into it. Instead of sitting with He Tian, he leaned back against the counter and held the bowl tight to his chest. He could feel He Tian’s eyes on him, but he didn’t meet the gaze. Mo barely tasted the food, his mind and heart heavy. Any moment, he expected the man to snap. Something happened to men when night fell, and they were shadowed by darkness and isolation. Something snapped in them, and all inhibitions or respect disappeared. Mo Guan Shan knew He Tian would be no different. Any moment, he would order Mo on his knees, or over the counter, or something else even worse.

He Tian was first to finish his udon. When the man pushed his bowl away and stood, Mo Guan Shan froze. He kept his eyes pinned on his bowl, his knuckles white.

There was a pause. 

“Clean up when you’re done. I will see you in the morning.”

Mo Guan Shan didn’t move as footsteps sounded behind him. Instead of coming close, however, they trailed away. For several minutes he stood there, his bowl clenched in his hands.

Finally, he took a shuddering breath. His stomach churned, and so he disposed of his bowl and saved the leftover soup, setting it in the fridge. The fridge itself was practically empty except a carton of milk, some cheese, and other random condiments. The other man was obviously used to living alone. Mo Guan Shan shook his head as he closed a door and hunted down a rag to clean up the counters.

Once they were spotless, he looked around for a hamper or a laundry room, but couldn’t find one. Briefly, he wondered if it was upstairs before shaking it from his mind. He instead took it to the room He Tian had given him—Mo refused to see it as his—and stowed it in the dresser.

Mo did not change or undress. Instead, he closed the door, which he wasn’t surprised to find didn’t have a lock, and laid in bed, bundled up with the covers drawn up to his chin. The room was pitch black. Only a faint light from the kitchen drifted in through the door, sending shadows like stretching fingers across the floor. Mo’s entire body remained tense. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he trained his ears for the inevitable sound of He Tian coming back downstairs and into the bedroom.

For hours he must have laid like that, exhaustion tugging at his mind. Mo Guan Shan fought it, determined to remain awake for when the man arrived. The last thing he wanted was to be woken up with the man on top of him.

His efforts, however, were in vain.

Mo Guan Shan’s door remained shut, and in the early hours of the morning, exhaustion won over and swept him into darkness.

 

* * *

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

* * *

 

 

 

Mo woke with a small jolt, his body seeming to recognize his strange surroundings even before his mind had time to catch up.

The room was quiet and empty. He shot up, hands searching and heart pounding. All of his clothes remained in place, and he felt nothing besides the throb on his cheek from the lasting bruise and the lasting tug of sleep.

He sat for a moment, listening. He could hear nothing from where he was, and after a moment, Mo slipped out of bed. Still in his clothes from yesterday, Mo Guan Shan inched towards the door and opened it, sticking his head out. Still no sound came, and he frowned.

Hadn’t He Tian said that he would come wake Mo early in the morning for work? Where was he?

Hesitating only a second, Mo Guan Shan slipped from his room, leaving the door cracked behind him in case he needed to rush back inside. He tiptoed across the cold floor, but soon discovered that the entire first floor was empty. The kitchen was just as spotless as he’d left it last night, and the living room looked just as deserted as it had been Mo first arrived.

Beyond cooking, Guan Shan had no idea what he was to do. Would he be a simple house slave, to cook and clean and pick up after the man?

He did another quick scope of the house, and listened intently upstairs, but could hear nothing. He was just about to sneak back into his room when a knock sounded on the front door, making him jump. Mo froze, his body rigid. A moment passed, and another knock. Heart in his throat, Mo glanced up towards the motionless stairs before heading toward the door.

When he opened it, a blonde man blinked in surprise at him. His long hair was tied in a low bun at his neck, and he wore a collared white shirt and black slacks. In his hands he clutched an envelope.

“Oh,” the man said. “Er, hi. I’m Jian Yi. Is He Tian in…?”

“I don’t know, I just woke up,” Mo stated.

The man’s voice sounded familiar, and Mo belatedly recognized him as the messenger from yesterday.

“Oh, sorry, hehe,” Jian Yi said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well… you’re new, right? What’s your name…?”

Mo Guan Shan hesitated.

“…Red.”

“Right, Red. Can you give this to He Tian for me? It’s important, so make sure he checks it soon.”

Jian Yi all but shoved the envelope into his hands, and Guan Shan took it with a small frown.

“What is it?”

Jian Yi’s smile faltered.

“Ah, work,” he said, waving a hand. “Boring stuff, I’m sure. I don’t read it.”

Mo Guan Shan tilted his head, eying the young man and his clothes.

“Are you a slave, too?” he asked. Jian Yi’s eyes widened—whether at the question or at Mo’s blunt personality, he couldn’t be sure.

“I’m employed to Zhan Zheng Xi, one of He Tian’s business partners,” Jian Yi chirped.

“So you’re a slave.”

Jian Yi frowned.

“We don’t use that word,” he pouted.

Mo Guan Shan’s eyes hardened.

“Just because he doesn’t call you that doesn’t mean that isn’t what you are,” he snapped, almost crinkling the envelope in his fist. Thinking better of it, he smoothed it out on his stomach. Jian Yi’s gaze almost looked pitying.

“Don’t worry about me too much,” he said with a smile. “I’m just fine with Xixi. I’ll see you some other time, Red!”

Before Mo Guan Shan could correct him or ask who the hell Xixi was, Jian Yi tossed a wave his way and disappeared into a black car waiting for him on the curb. With a frown, Mo Guan Shan shut the door and turned back to the empty room.

The envelope was thin, but heavy in his hands. His fingertips itched as they slid across the dimpled cover. There was no writing on the outside, nor could he see through the thick paper to its contents. Mo Guan Shan drifted into the kitchen as he turned it over in his hands. Despite himself, he was curious. What kind of business was He Tian in that it had to be held so secretively? What was with the smoke in mirrors? Was he going to be like Jian Yi, brainwashed to think that he was anything besides a slave? Eager to send messages for his master?

Mo Guan Shan shook his head in disgust and turned back to the envelope. Of their own volition, his fingers sought the edge where it was sealed and gently picked at the glue there. It gave a faint pop as it released.

“Looking for something interesting?”

Mo leapt as the letter was snatched from his hand, and stiffened when he felt breath on his neck. His knuckles turned white from gripping the counter as he felt the heat of He Tian’s body behind him, just inches away. Without looking, he could _feel_ the anger radiating off of him.

“I don’t have any interest in having someone this nosy around my house,” He Tian murmured. His voice was low and dangerous, and Mo tried hard to suppress a shudder.

“I-I wasn’t—“

“And I especially don’t like liars.”

Mo’s lips thinned in a straight line. Fingers gripped his arm and pulled him around, and suddenly he was face to face with He Tian.

The man’s eyes were dark pools of anger, his delicate brows furrowed. His hair was damp, presumably from the shower, and clung to his long neck. Fear dropped through Mo’s gut as he tried to pull his arm from He Tian’s grasp, but it only grew tighter.

“My business has nothing to do with you,” He Tian growled. “You will stay out of it. Do you understand?”

Mo swallowed hard.

            “Fine. Yes. I mean… yes, sir. I get it. Just… let go.”

            He Tian observed him. His fingers released Mo and Mo Guan Shan wrenched away, scrambling to put the kitchen island between them. He Tian held the half-opened envelope in his hand, and ran the other through his hair.

            “Fix me breakfast,” he ordered. “Whatever I have. I’ll order more food today.”

            Mo Guan Shan nodded. Thankfully, that was enough, and He Tian turned and disappeared. A moment later, Mo heard the faint creak of the stairs.

            Breath gushed out of him and Mo sank against the counter, pressing a hand to his chest, where he swore he could feel his heart pounding.

            He had met a lot of mean, intimidating men in his life, but… no one else compared to He Tian’s terrifyingly cold fury. It felt as though, if he were pushed too far, the ice of his gaze would melt and set fire to a rage the likes of which Mo Guan Shan had never seen.

            It took an embarrassing amount of time to gather himself, but when he did, Mo Guan Shan shook himself out of his thoughts and searched for something to make. In the end, all he found useful were eggs, and so he cooked them up an Americanized breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast. Once again, he only fixed He Tian’s plate, leaving the rest off to the side. By the time he was done, He Tian came down fully dressed and his hair dry. The envelope was gone, as was his anger.

            The man plopped down easily in one of the stools and pulled his plate toward him with a hum. Mo Guan Shan eyed him while he wiped down the counter. He Tian ate quietly, seeming deep in thought. Any moment Mo Guan Shan expected him to turn into the beat he’d glimpsed before, but He Tian remained calm even as he spoke, ignoring the way Mo Guan Shan flinched.

            “I’ll be out today. I’m having guests tonight, so I want you to clean the entire bottom floor until it’s spotless. Don’t go upstairs, or I will know.”

            Mo Guan Shan gave a nod. Really, he shouldn’t say anything, especially after earlier, but—

            “Who will it be?”

            He Tian raised an eyebrow.

            “Don’t worry, you won’t know them,” he drawled, making Mo’s cheeks flush with annoyance. “It’s an associate of mine. We won’t need food, but we’ll need drinks. I assume you know how to make them?”

            Mo Guan Shan hesitated.

            “Somewhat,” he said.

            He Tian nodded.

            “The liquor cabinet is there,” he said, motioning in the corner above Mo’s head. “No drinking it yourself, of course. But scotch will be best, I think. With ice. Have them ready by eight.”

            Once again, Mo Guan Shan only nodded in response. Once he’d finished with his breakfast, He Tian rose.

            “Eat and get cleaning. I’m leaving.”

            Mo Guan Shan watched the man slip on his shoes and pluck up his car keys before leaving.

             So much for the fake attempt at niceties from yesterday. It hadn’t lasted long, but at least Mo hadn’t been beaten for his actions earlier. Still, the rest of the day, he would be on guard, just in case He Tian decided to drop by and punish him.

 

* * *

 

 

            It never happened.

            Mo Guan Shan ate his breakfast swiftly before setting to work. He wiped down the counters, swept and vacuumed the entire bottom floor except for his own room, and dusted the living room. A thin layer of dust lay on almost everything, leading Mo to wonder how often He Tian was actually home. The house seemed utterly unlived in, and every time Mo passed the stairs, his mind wandered up them even as his feet moved past.

            Was the upstairs just as empty and covered in dust? Did He Tian’s bedroom look just as cold and uninviting as everything else? As himself?

            His ponderings would remain only that. After earlier and the brief witness of He Tian’s fury, Mo Guan Shan had no desire to push the man to those limits again. Even thinking about those coal-black eyes melting in anger made Mo shudder.

            Eventually the sun began to sink, and as demanded he made up drinks for He Tian and his mystery guest, setting them on the low wooden table in the living room atop thick marble coasters. He made his way back towards the kitchen to put up the bottle when he heard a car door outside slam shut, and his footsteps paused. Mo didn’t have time to decide whether he should disappear into his room or not before the front door swung open.

            He Tian stepped through, wearing his slim gray suit, and behind him trailed a young man with sharp blue eyes and gelled brown hair. Mo had never seen him before, but he had a calm atmosphere around him as Mo was beckoned forward to take his jacket and hat. Mo hung them on the rack by the door as the men passed him, the sharp smell of tobacco following after them.

            Mo Guan Shan moved to shut the door, but a hand shot through, and Jian Yi popped in with a grin. He waved to a befuddled Mo before squeezing past him and hurrying after their masters. With a frown, Mo shut the door and padded behind.

            He Tian and his guest had already settled in, the former in the sleek leather armchair and the latter on the matching couch. To Mo’s astonishment, Jian Yi plopped down only about a foot away from his supposed master on the couch. The man barely glanced at him as he sipped his scotch. He Tian lit a cigarette, reclining back in his seat and crossing his long legs. He looked like a spider, all long limbs and sinewy muscles. His dark eyes caught sight of Mo Guan Shan, and he made a vague wave of his fingers. Mo Guan Shan shifted to the left of the door and stood with his back to the wall. Seemingly satisfied, He Tian turned to his guest, who spoke.

            “You told me you read my messages, but you didn’t tell me what you thought.”

            He Tian smiled before letting out a long stream of smoke. It curled white and dissipated above his head into the lulling fan.

            “That’s because I think you know exactly what I’m going to say, Zheng Xi.” 

The other man—Zheng Xi—frowned. He was handsome, with sharp features and thick eyebrows. He wore black slacks and a white button-up shirt, but forwent the tie and jacket that He Tian seemed to like so much. Beside him, Jian Yi sat with his hands placidly between his knees, watching the conversation. Mo Guan Shan tried to wrap his head around what he was seeing, but He Tian’s rumbling voice drew him from his observation.

“It’s nothing to be concerned about,” He Tian said. “Not yet, anyway.”

“How long do you want to wait?” Zheng Xi demanded. “If She Li has caught scent—“

He Tian waved a hand.

“She Li is an idiot,” he stated. For some reason, his gaze flickered to Mo Guan Shan. It was gone before he could decipher it. “Even if he catches onto the trail, it won’t lead back to us. Trust me.”

Zheng Xi sighed, running his fingers through his carefully gelled hair. Jian Yi’s eyes followed the movements, and Guan Shan tried not to snort in disgust.

“I do. But sometimes I wonder whether or not I should.”

He Tian only smiled, and Zheng Xi took another sip before setting his glass on the table.

“And what about my other message?” the man asked.

He Tian turned to Mo Guan Shan then, and Zheng Xi did the same. A chill ran down Mo Guan Shan’s spine, and he stiffened as their gazes met his.

“This is Red,” He Tian announced, his thin lips tugged into a smirk. “He has so far declined to share with me his real name.”

Zheng Xi observed him.

Mo felt a little better to realize that he saw nothing in his gaze; no disgust, no hate, no desire. It was just a roaming gaze, as if taking stock of a piece of furniture. It used to bring Mo Guan Shan anger, this look, but now it only brought relief.

“You really think--?”

“I do,” He Tian said, bowing his head.

Zheng Xi hummed, and for a moment they were quiet.

Mo Guan Shan’s head spun. What the hell were they talking about? Were they talking about him? If they were, why? He felt another gaze on him, and tilted his head to meet Jian Yi’s eye. The man grinned, his eyes bright. Mo Guan Shan scowled and turned away.

The meeting passed much the same. He Tian and Zheng Xi spoke in vague terms of people they hardly named, before gossiping about the latest technology and politics. Never again did they turn their attention to Mo Guan Shan, or bring up whatever it was they’d been discussing earlier. By the time Zheng Xi rose to leave, a few stars beyond the window had popped up into the dark sky, and Mo suppressed a yawn as he dragged his weary body to follow the men to the door. Jian Yi handed his master his hat and jacket, who took it quietly. He and He Tian exchanged a few words Guan Shan couldn’t hear despite how he strained, and goodbyes were exchanged. Jian Yi tossed him a grin and a wave, but Mo simply shut the door in his face.

When he turned to He Tian, he found the man lighting another cigarette. Mo only now noticed thin bags beneath his eyes and the low sag of his shoulders. He Tian drew the cigarette away from his lips to let out a plume of smoke, and his gaze found Mo’s.

“Care to step outside?”

 

 

The night air was cool against Mo’s skin and shook away some of the tiredness from his mind. They stood on the winding patio behind He Tian’s house, a few feet of space between them. Mo’s fingers clung to the white railing as he tilted his head back. The black expanse of night stretched out above them, occasionally dotted with stars. The moon was hidden somewhere within the clouds, hiding beneath the pollution of the city.

“It used to be beautiful, when I was a kid.”

Mo Guan Shan started a little when He Tian spoke and glanced at him. The man’s eyes stared straight ahead, but nothing but darkness met them. Mo had the feeling they were focused on something they couldn’t see.

Mo didn’t answer, and He Tian took another drag before continuing, the tobacco warm and sharp to Mo’s senses.

“There used to be all kinds of stars, especially out in the country. My brother would take me for camping trips, and we’d look up at the night sky together. There’s no use now. Humans have ruined this planet.”

Again, Mo didn’t respond. He didn’t care for He Tian’s opinions. Apparently the man hadn’t done enough talking in the last two hours, so Mo prepared himself to suffer through rants on politics in reserved silence.

“What about you, Red?” He Tian asked. Mo stiffened as he felt the man’s gaze land on him like a weight on his shoulders. It was heavy and heated, like a hand gliding down his back, yet it made cold curl in his chest.

“What about me?” Mo Guan Shan forced out.

“What would you change?”

Mo’s head snapped to He Tian. They stared at each other, and Mo Guan Shan’s anger mounted as He Tian remained calm.

“All this technology, all of these advancements—they’re working on robots, for fuck’s sake,” Mo hissed, “and people still keep other people as slaves. What the hell do you think I would change?”

Silence fell between them.

He Tian tapped the end of his cigarette on the railing, the cherry falling into glittering specks and disappearing into the grass below. Mo flinched, but He Tian’s calm demeanor didn’t change.

“Usually it’s by choice these days,” He Tian pointed out. “You’re old enough to decide for yourself, aren’t you?”

Mo winced and turned away. His knuckles turned white on the railing.

“…That’s none of your business.”

He Tian shrugged.

“Suit yourself.”

He smothered his cigarette on the railing and flicked the remains into the yard. Mo Guan Shan scowled, knowing he would have to pick it up, and could practically feel He Tian smile at him.

“I will be out again tomorrow. I expect better behavior from you in the morning. In a few days, if you’ve done well, we’ll go out.”

“Out?” Mo Guan Shan repeated, unable to help himself and choosing to ignore the annoyance that piqued him at He Tian’s words.

The man only smiled and loosened his tie.

“Goodnight, Red.”

He raised a hand and disappeared through the sliding glass door. Mo Guan Shan turned back to the yard, taking a deep breath of fresh air.

He could run.

He could run now. He could disappear and never come back. Maybe no one would ever find him.

_Or maybe they would._

His mother’s face appeared in his mind, and Mo’s heart ached. He stood there for a moment longer, sending her well wishes and hoping they would find her along the wind that blew past, before turning and heading back inside.

 

* * *

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

 

 

The next few days passed much the same, and Mo was surprised by how much freedom he was granted. Besides cleaning and cooking meals, Mo had free reign of the bottom floor. He took a shower whenever he desired, made himself snacks when he was hungry, and even stepped outside when the walls closed in on him a little too tight.

He Tian was gone often, but in his place a bodyguard arrived, shadowing Mo. The man kept his distance, but he was almost always in the corner of Mo Guan Shan’s eye besides when he escaped to the bathroom.

Mo wouldn’t run. Not yet. If things turned south, then he would. If He Tian’s apparent disinterest in him changed, Mo Guan Shan would do what he had to do.

Jian Yi visited again once, but only briefly to give He Tian a message. Mo tossed it on the counter and refused to touch it or even look at it, He Tian’s burning eyes still etched clearly in his mind.

He couldn’t help, as he dusted the bottom floor once again, but wonder about Jian Yi. He was such an odd man. It seemed that he’d truly been brainwashed into thinking nothing of his situation. If Mo wasn’t mistaken, the man had even looked happy with Zhan Zheng Xi. The thought made Mo shake his head.

That evening, He Tian stepped inside and waved away his bodyguard as Mo was finishing dinner—a ravioli dish with fresh parmesan cheese. The bodyguard disappeared, the front door shutting behind him, and Mo eyed He Tian warily as the man approached the counter, tugging his tie loose. The man’s dark eyes alighted on the envelope still sitting where Mo had tossed it. Mo’s grip on the wooden spoon he was using to stir tightened as He Tian picked up the envelope and turned it over.

Instead of opening it, however, He Tian slipped the envelope into his pocket and sat down on the stool across from Mo.

“We’re going out tomorrow,” He Tian announced.

Mo tried to suppress a frown. Being stuck in the huge mansion by himself hadn’t exactly been thrilling, but the idea of walking out among people as He Tian’s belonging made Mo’s stomach twist.

“You’ll come with me to work, and then we have to buy you some new clothes,” He Tian explained.

“Work?” Mo blurted out. “I thought your work was—with that guy. Mr. Zhan.”

He Tian’s lips thinned into a humorless smile.

“That is a side project,” he murmured. His eyes pinned Mo in place. Remembering his cold fury, Mo froze, his spine trembling. “You will visit my actual work with me tomorrow.”

Mo’s mouth was dry. He couldn’t deny that he was insatiably curious—both about He Tian’s real job and this “side project” of his and Zhan Zheng Xi’s. What could they be doing? Obviously it was something illegal if they were going through the effort of keeping it this silent. Looking at He Tian, he could easily believe that the man was into corrupt affairs. But Zhan Zheng Xi? The man looked so… innocent. Average.

Perhaps that was part of his charm.

 

 

Sizzling broke through Mo’s thoughts and he turned the stove down, stirring the bubbling white sauce. Soon the dish was finished and he added a last sprinkle of parmesan before serving He Tian. This time Mo didn’t hesitate to fix himself a plate, though he still leaned far back against the counter.

He eyed He Tian over his plate.

The man ate slowly, thoughtfully. His dark hair fell into his face, obscuring his eyes from Mo. He was silently thankful. The man’s gaze had a way of freezing Mo, making it impossible for him to escape. It paralyzed and terrified him all at the same time.

As usual, He Tian finished eating before him and rose. This time, he brought his plate around the island and to the sink right next to Mo. The latter stiffened as their arms brushed and subtly drew away.

“Do you despise human touch so much?” He Tian asked. His tone was playful, but his lips did not curve into his usual smile.

Anger flushed through Mo Guan Shan’s veins.

“From you?” he bit. “It’s disgusting.”

Silence fell over them.

Mo held his breath, waiting for a hit.

It never came.

He Tian set his plate in the sink and withdrew, turning away and padding out of the kitchen.

“Be ready to go in the morning. We’re leaving early.”

Mo watched him go, the man’s gait casual and open as he disappeared around the corner. Moments later the stairs creaked as the man mounted them, and Mo Guan Shan released a breath.

 

 

* * *

 

 

As promised, He Tian fetched him early in the morning.

The man wore a typical black suit and tie, his hair brushed from his pale face. He gave Mo Guan Shan a lazy grin as he entered the kitchen.

“You’re always up so early,” He Tian noted.

“Habit.”

A habit bred from waking up in an instant. A habit bred from needing to always be prepared to leap to his master’s bidding, no matter what the hour, lest he be beat for not responding fast enough.

Mo Guan Shan wore the same clothes He Tian had given him the first day, though they’d been washed. The jeans rode up on his ankles, exposing how thin he was. Still, in the few days he’d been in He Tian’s home, Mo had already begun filling out. He could feel it when he dressed as the shirt felt a little snugger beneath the armpits and around his middle, but Mo didn’t complain.

After a quick breakfast, He Tian lead Mo Guan Shan out of the front door to the black car waiting on the curb. The sun peaked through a haze of clouds, setting everything with a soft golden glow. The driver opened the door and He Tian slid inside the car, Mo Guan Shan reluctantly following.

 “I need you on your best behavior,” He Tian announced as soon as the door shut and the car rumbled so life. Mo Guan Shan slipped his seatbelt on and curled his hands in his lap. “My coworkers can be… well. Not the kindest of people. But I want to make it clear that you follow my rules and my rules only. If someone else asks you to do something, you have it in your power to say no. Understand?”

Mo Guan Shan blinked, then frowned.

“Won’t they punish me?” he asked.

Once again that mirthless smile tugged at He Tian’s lips.

“Not if they know you’re mine, they won’t.”

Mo scowled and turned to gaze out the window. Despite He Tian’s last words, he clung on to his instructions. Things would be easier if He Tian was the only one he had to listen to. Often his previous masters would make him do the bidding of anyone they came in contact with; Mo was simply an extra pair of hands, or a phone that they could let anyone else borrow.

So far He Tian had not punished him for any of his mistakes, big or small. Mo Guan Shan silently hoped that luck would carry over to his coworkers.

 

* * *

 

 

In about thirty minutes the car slowed to a stop and the driver parked and stepped out. He opened the door for He Tian, who slipped out followed closely by Mo Guan Shan.

They were right in the heart of the city and people—some toting slaves, some without—hustled along the sidewalks, droning into their phones or bustling between others on their way to work. Cars weaved and honked along the pavement behind them and storefronts stretched out on either side of the road, their display cases beaming in the light so bright Mo Guan Shan had to look away.

Before them stood a monstrous silver building with wide, seamless windows. The building reached high into the sky, nearly disappearing into the clouds. Looking up at it made Mo dizzy, and he quickly followed He Tian as the tall man glided through the glass front doors and into a wide lobby. Heels and slick shoes clacked against the brown and black swirling marble floor, echoing among the shuffle of paper and the murmur of voices.

Mo tried not to shrink in on himself, but soon became aware that no one paid him any mind. If anything, their attention was drawn to He Tian as he walked across the room toward the elevators at the back. A few people ventured to greet him—mostly women, Mo noted—and He Tian replied with a smooth smile. It was a different smile than he’d seen before. It was charming. Promising.

When his eye caught Mo’s, the smile slid into a smirk. Mo scowled.

They reached the elevators and stepped inside. The doors closed and Mo stiffened, pressing himself into the corner.

“What is this place?” he ventured, eying He Tian. The man stood with his hands in his pockets, a small, knowing smile on his lips. He glanced at Mo Guan Shan.

“…He Towers.”

Mo’s stomach swooped.

The elevator chimed as it stopped and the doors hissed open. Mo followed He Tian onto the landing and down wide, gray-carpeted hallways.

“You named a building after yourself?” Mo asked.

“Not me,” He Tian said, “My father.”

“Where is he?” Mo asked, eyes darting around and peering into the open doors for any sign of an older man, whom he imagined would be even more intimidating than He Tian.

He Tian didn’t answer.

They turned a corner and He Tian pulled a set of keys from his pocket, unlocking a heavy wooden door and holding it open with a flourish. Hesitating, Mo Guan Shan stepped inside.

He Tian’s office was just like his house; ridiculously huge.

A wide window made up the left hand wall looking out upon the city from high above. The rooftops seemed miles below, the people on the sidewalk specks of dust as they hurried about their lives beneath the bright sun hanging in the cool blue sky.

The other three walls were blank and painted tan, which did nothing to make it feel more homey. The only signs of life within was the stack of papers on the wooden desk in the center and the closet behind it in which He Tian hung his jacket. He adjusted the cufflinks of his white shirt and slipped gracefully into the tall black chair behind his desk. The door shut and Mo Guan Shan hovered before it. He Tian smiled and waved a hand at the one chair opposite his desk, sat at an angle. It looked as though it had been set there for simple courtesy, but nothing about it screamed comfort. It was as if it was a challenge to anyone who dared come into the office to actually sit down before He Tian.

“You may sit when I don’t have visitors,” he said. “You won’t want to stand. It’s going to be a long day.”

Mo eyed the chair before his gaze returned to He Tian.

“Why am I here?”

He Tian arched an eyebrow and Mo pushed on.

“If I’m just going to sit here, I might as well have stayed behind,” Mo pointed out, brow furrowing. “Why’d you drag me out here?”

He watched for any sign of anger or annoyance, this time out of simple curiosity. Mo had still not seen any flash of the cold beast within He Tian since he’d caught Mo trying to open the letter that first day. Now, he wasn’t surprised when a slow smirk tugged the corner of He Tian’s lips and only grew as the man leaned forward. His dark eyes danced.

“Entertainment.”

Blood rushed to Mo’s face and anger burned his veins. Without meaning to, his eyes flickered from He Tian, to the desk, and to the window.

Was He Tian really thinking of doing something here? At his work? In front of a window, where they could be seen?

Mo’s stomach churned and his lips parted to say something—anything—but at that moment, a swift knock landed on the door. He Tian leaned back in his chair, his smile diminishing but not vanishing, and motioned for Mo to open the door. Taking a shuddering breath, Mo did so, stepping aside as a young temp bustled in, her cheeks pink and her eyes bright with excitement.

 

* * *

 

 

For the next three hours, Mo was forced to stand in the corner and watch He Tian flirt his way through his business day. He took a few calls and finished a few reports, but there was barely a moment to breathe between the women—and occasionally men—that came in with a “problem” that was easily solved with two words, only to turn the conversation around.

Mo Guan Shan didn’t care about He Tian’s business or who he spoke to or flirted with. All he cared about was that it seemed He Tian’s words from earlier hadn’t been pointed in the direction Mo thought—or, at least, he’d been too busy to put the plan into action, which Mo was infinitely grateful for.

The sun was high in the sky and the last temp who lost the company memo—which had been emailed—finally left after a polite rejection on the offer of coffee.

He Tian’s eyes flickered his way, and Mo stiffened. The man’s gaze was warm, but dark. Mo had caught glimpses of it throughout the day; the creature inside He Tian that was hidden behind all of the fake smiles and smooth words. Mo Guan Shan was no one to impress, so he had seen all of it. He Tian didn’t have to act in front of him. Mo usually saw the worst in people, simply because he wasn’t important enough for them to care that he saw. Mo couldn’t help but wonder what He Tian’s bad side was.

At the thought of his cold, angry gaze, Mo suppressed the curiosity.

“Having fun?”

He Tian’s rumbling voice brought him from his thoughts. Mo huffed.

“Tons,” he drawled, arms crossed. He made no move to sit in the chair. As expected, no one had dared sit in it, and Mo had no interest in being the first.

A chuckle escaped He Tian’s lips. It was low and genuine. Genuine, at least, in comparison to the high-pitched laughter that had issued from him earlier. It had been like watching a different person.

“I think I can find something to pass the time,” He Tian said lightly. His eyebrow quirked, and Mo’s blood turned cold even as his face flushed.

Mo swallowed hard.

“I…” he licked his lips and didn’t miss the way He Tian’s gaze dropped to his mouth at the movement. “…I have to piss.”

He Tian blinked. Then he smiled and leaned back in his chair once again. He had held himself back so far, but now he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket along with a lighter and lit one, setting the pack next to the small black ashtray on his desk. White smoke swirled from his lips as he exhaled, watching Mo over the burning end of the cigarette.

“Down the hall,” he instructed. “First door on your left. Don’t get lost.”

Mo didn’t need to be told twice.

He yanked open the door and tried not to rush from the room, shutting the door behind him. Heart pounding, Mo marched down the hall, keeping his head down. Everyone he passed wore sleek suits and skirts, their hair gelled or tied up high to keep from their faces. Mo saw a few others like him in casual clothing, tailing the business men and women. Other slaves.

Some wore necklace--too close to collars for his liking-- that made Mo’s lips twist. He was grateful He Tian didn’t have the taste for anything like that, at least. Still, it was obvious what he was. The clothes felt like a brand as he hurried down the hall.

Soon Mo found the men’s bathroom and slipped inside. It was blessedly empty and Mo stood before the mirror, attempting to catch his breath. The tile was a dull beige, only a few shades lighter than He Tian’s office walls, and the florescent lights made it glow in a way that made Mo’s eyes hurt. The white stall doors behind him all stood open in neat uniform, and he settled his gaze on himself.

His cheeks glowed red, his eyes wide with panic and his brows furrowed.

Mo shook his head and turned on the tap, splashing his face. The cool water ran rivulets down his face and neck. He sighed in relief, rubbing it into his skin as if it would take away the panic.

It was only a matter of time, wasn’t it? That He Tian made his move?

Sure, Mo had entertained him with his cooking and cleaning skills, but that couldn’t be all he wanted. It was never all masters wanted.

Mo bit his lip and set his hands on the edge of the sink.

He thought of He Tian in his office, leaning back in his chair. The sunlight from the large window often caught his eyes, turning them from black to gray as they danced. It was like those eyes had a secret. In those moments, He Tian looked more human. He was a handsome man. Mo couldn’t deny that. He Tian was tall and strong, corded muscle pressing against the sleeves of his shirt and his long legs stretching for long, graceful miles.

Mo squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

Curse him.

            Maybe this was He Tian’s plan. Perhaps he wanted to make Mo panic and worry by waiting until Mo confused himself into thinking he wanted it. That he wanted He Tian to slip into his room at night or toss him atop his desk.

            _No chance in hell_ , Mo spat.

            Scrubbing his hands over his face, Mo spun and marched for the door, determined to go back and tell He Tian exactly where he could shove that knowing smirk.

            He didn’t reach the door, however.

            As soon as Mo whipped around he crashed chest-first into a broad chest. He stumbled back as the man shouted.

            He was only a few inches taller than Mo with a barrel chest and a gut to match, straining against his navy blue button up. His black hair was balding and obviously dyed, and his beady green eyes fixed Mo with a glare. Before Mo could react, the man snatched his arm.

            “Watch where the hell you’re going,” he bellowed, “You almost knocked me over!”

            Panic seeped into Mo’s chest, but he tamped it down.

            “I didn’t mean to—“

            He adjusted his arm, but the man squeezed harder and pain shot through Mo’s wrist.

            “Let go of me,” he demanded.

            “Who do you think you are?” the man growled, taking a step closer. Beneath the cheap cologne Mo could smell body odor and his nose wrinkled. “Who the hell do you belong to? You don’t think I know what you are, boy?”

            “I’m not a boy,” Mo protested, “Let me go—“

            The man raised a hand.

            Mo flinched before he could stop himself, his free hand shooting up to block.

            The grip wrenched free from his arm and Mo’s eyes opened.

            His breath caught in his chest as He Tian turned from him, having slipped in without either man's notice.

            In just the glimpse Mo caught, he saw it again, and it sent a shiver down his spine. The coldness. The anger.

            No. This time it wasn’t anger.

            It was _fury_.

            It drew a taught line across He Tian’s shoulders as he turned his back on Mo, easily falling between him and the stout man, who stumbled back. Immediately his rage disappeared and morphed into panic. The sight gave Mo a grim sort of pleasure.

            “M-Mr. He—I mean, Mr. He Tian, I—“

            “Red is mine,” He Tian stated. His voice rang through the bathroom with an echoing finality. “If you have any trouble with him, I suggest you bring it to me.”

            The man’s eyes didn’t even flicker to Mo. For all he was concerned, Mo Guan Shan didn’t even exist any more, which suited the latter just fine.

            “Of course, sir, I didn't realize— you see, he ran into me, nearly knocked me off my feet and--“  

            “You’re fired.”

            At the same time, Mo Guan Shan and the other man gawked at He Tian. There was a beat of stunned silence. Then—

            “No, please, sir. It was a mistake. I didn’t know he was yours. Please, Mr. He, I—“ the man babbled, and Mo wasn't sure if it was a trick of the lighting or if actual tears crowded his beady eyes.

            “My word is final. Get out,” He Tian ordered, his voice raised.

            The man flinched and scurried out, his cheeks blazing red.

            Mo watched him go in a mixture of happiness and confusion. The door swung shut behind the man, nearly smacking him on his way out.

Mo's attention was soon drawn away as He Tian turned to him.

            Dark eyes once again met his, but they had once again changed.

            The icy glare had melted into something warm, and He Tian’s gaze swept over him. Mo’s throat tightened.

            “Did he hurt you?” He Tian asked. His voice was even, but there was a hardness beneath it that was unmistakable.

            Mo’s spine trembled and he shook his head.

            He Tian lifted a hand and Mo froze as fingers brushed the side of his face—the side that the man almost struck.

            Would have, if not for He Tian’s interference.

            Mo Guan Shan’s mouth dried and he leaned away. He Tian’s hand remained in the air for a moment, empty and suspended, before he let it drop.

            “…Why did you fire him?” Mo asked.

            A coldness returned to He Tian’s features as his lips tightened.

            “I wanted to,” he stated. Mo’s brows furrowed. Catching on that the answer wasn’t satisfying enough, He Tian added, “It sends a message.”

            Mo shouldn’t care. He really shouldn’t. But…

            “What message?”

            A grim smile slid onto He Tian’s lips.

            “That no one's allowed to touch you."

 

* * *

 


End file.
